


When I was a child I dreamed...

by Welcome_to_Latveria



Series: Kristoff Von Doom [1]
Category: Fantastic Four (Comicverse), Marvel, Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family Feels, Father-Son Relationship, Human Experimentation, Kristoff has issues about being replaced, Victor is an okay dad, he's getting better okay, i guess??, it's 2020 and i'm saying Kristoff rights!!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-27
Updated: 2020-01-27
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:47:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22440547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Welcome_to_Latveria/pseuds/Welcome_to_Latveria
Summary: Kristoff returns home to Castle Doom after some time in America and he's starting to suspect that his father has had an extreme case of empty nest syndrome...
Relationships: Victor von Doom & Kristoff Vernard, Victor von Doom & Original Character(s)
Series: Kristoff Von Doom [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1694635
Comments: 15
Kudos: 16





	When I was a child I dreamed...

**Author's Note:**

> There's some Romani words in this - I translated them with ROMLEX which is an online Romani dictionary but if there's anything you think needs to be changed just tell me! I used the Romungro Romani dialect because of Latveria's geographical position in Europe. 
> 
> Translations:  
> čhaavo - son, boy  
> unoko - grandson  
> dad - father  
> phuro dad - grandfather

Kristoff wakes up at 12pm in the afternoon – if anyone asks it’s because he’s suffering from jetlag, but frankly his time in America with no responsibilities has meant this has become the norm for him. He’s back home now, though, and he knows he better fix up his sleep schedule quickly lest he get verbally assaulted by his father who thinks that waking up any later than 7am is a sign of incurable laziness.

He hadn’t run into his father when he'd arrived home yesterday, but that hadn’t been a surprise seeming he had neglected to inform Victor of his plans to return. He hadn’t even _had_ any particular plans to return – he had been quite enjoying the break from his father’s drama – but Boris had contacted him and asked him to return for a while to temper his father. That had raised his suspicions; Boris wasn’t one for technology _at all_ and usually his grandfather was the one who talked Victor down from any ridiculous ideas, so Kristoff was concerned if their usual methods of dealing with him had fallen through.

His father is… difficult.

For the first five years of his life Victor Von Doom had been a sort of fairy-tale figure in his life. A man who had risen above the oppression and persecution faced by their people to become _powerful_ , when their people had been powerless for so long. His mother had repeated that to him often when Doom had been deposed and Zorba had been in power – “Doom is one of us, _čhaavo_ , he will be the one to save us,” she had told him over and over again when they had seen atrocities committed against Latveria and its people. A part of him had believed what she told him whilst another part of him raged that Doom had clearly abandoned them to the whims of this evil man. But his mother had been right after all. Doom _had_ saved them; but not before Zorba committed one final atrocity by slaying Kristoff's mother.

After that Victor Von Doom had gone from being this untouchable monarch to his _father_ and it was a change that took a lot of getting used to. It was probably good for their relationship that Kristoff had never had a father before then – there was no feeling that Doom was trying to replace anyone in his life – he had just been in awe that this man (though to his younger self he had been more than a man, more akin to a God, really) had taken him in. Doom hadn’t known how to treat him at first – it was clear to Kristoff that his father had never really interacted with children before this, not for extended periods of time. He referred constantly to him as his ‘heir’ and bombarded him with tutors and lessons and books for reasons Kristoff was too young to understand.

“Why do I have to learn all this stuff?” He’d complained to Boris one morning. Boris was an older man who lived with Doom in the castle. Kristoff had been unsure of their relation at first but the longer he lived there the clearer it became that this man was Doom’s surrogate father. Boris was kind and gentle towards him and seemed especially fond of answering Kristoff’s numerous questions – he supposed that Doom wasn’t one to ask questions when _he_ was younger. “I bet the Master didn’t have to learn all these things when he was a kid!”

Boris had tutted – he tutted _a lot_ , especially around his surrogate son but not often with Kristoff, “ _The Master?_ ” He’d made a sound of dismissal. “Stop with that, _unoko_ – he is not your Master he is your _dad_.”

That was the first time anyone had ever referred to Doom as his father. It felt strange… but nice. He’d never had a _dad_ before.

“You should be grateful for this education, Kristoff,” Boris had continued in that lecturing sort of tone he often used. “Do you know why the Master insists on this education, hmm? Because he never had it himself as a child. That is part of being a father, you see? Giving your children the chances in life that you didn’t have.”

Boris was full of wise lessons like that, Kristoff came to learn.

“You just told me not to call him the Master.”

Boris waved him off. “These are silly protocols your father insists on and I am an old man who has no time for arguments he will never win. I will tell you two things right now, _unoko_. First of all, you will never win an argument with your father – it does not matter if you are right. You will work around him and you will compromise and you will talk him down from his schemes and his machinations, like I have learnt to do. Secondly; he will try and distance himself at all times. He will pretend to have no need for trivial things like love and family – do not let him fool you, Kristoff. Your father needs these things more than most.”

As a child it was hard for him to understand that concept – the idea that someone would _want_ to be alone, that someone would deliberately push away those that cared about them. He thinks he gets it now, though. His father doesn’t want to be alone, not really. He’s just been alone for a long time and he thinks that’s how things should be – that he’s got this far in life by not relying on anyone.

It’s so frustrating, though, he fumes silently. It’s hard to love someone who doesn’t want to be loved – especially someone like his father who has so many other flaws like the fact he’s a _supervillain_ and also that Kristoff has never even seen his face. God, he hates that stupid mask in a way he can’t quite express. _“Take it off!”_ he wants to scream. _“I’m your son! I love you. I don’t care what you look like! Let me see your face!”_ He wants to see how they resemble each other, because Boris often says that Kristoff looks like Victor when he was younger. 

“Kristoff!”

Boris is standing at the end of the hallway where Kristoff’s room is located, beaming at him but also looking slightly fidgety. He makes his way towards the man, also smiling at his grandfather.

When he reaches the old man, he’s pulled into a strong hug which he returns gladly.

“It’s good to see you, _unoko_.” Boris tells him as they separate.

Kristoff grins at him. “It’s good to see you too.” And it is good to see Boris – he felt bad about leaving without saying goodbye a couple of months ago but he’s sure that his grandfather understands his need to get away from his father for a while.

“You better fill me in on what I’ve missed around here, huh?” He tells Boris as the two of them make their way downstairs. “I bet I’ve missed a lot.” He doesn’t ask why Boris contacted him because he’s sure that his grandfather will tell him in due time. Besides, hearing the less insane things his father has been up to will slowly acclimatise him for whatever _absolutely_ insane thing Victor has done this time.

“Perhaps I should start with the new addition to the castle?” Boris says. “Your father has taken a young woman under his wing – not much older than you. Her name is Zora Vukovic, although your father calls her Victorious–”

“His ego never takes a break, huh?”

Boris smiles wryly at him, “Indeed.”

Kristoff focuses on the walls of the castle. They’re mostly covered in pictures, tapestries and hangings with insignias. There are no pictures of him in this part of the castle. He can’t help thinking of the Baxter Building where the Fantastic Four live ( ~~where the other half of his family live~~ ). They have family pictures plastered all over the walls. Pictures of Reed, Sue, Johnny and Ben when they were younger, pictures of their extended family, pictures of the kids. He supposes the difference between the Fantastic Four and Kristoff’s family is that one of them is actually functional.

“So…” He drags his feet on the floor and doesn’t make eye contact with Boris. “What’s this ‘Victorious’ like, then?” He’s not fishing for information, he’s not! He’s not even slightly curious about the girl his father seems to have replaced him with whilst he’s been away.

“She is nothing like you,” his grandfather starts. “Very serious. Dedicated and obedient – not at all like you, you see?”

He scowls. “Yes, yes – everyone’s a better child than me. I know. I’ve heard it all before.”

“Oh Kristoff, you know I didn’t mean it like that.” Boris sighs. “She and your father just have similar temperaments.”

“Oh? So she’s a sociopath?”

“Your father isn’t a sociopath.” Boris gives him a strict look and Kristoff mutters an apology. He knows Victor isn’t a sociopath, of course – just extremely emotionally repressed, but it’s still frustrating when all he wants is proof that his father loves him, and he seems incapable of providing that.

“God, I can’t believe he just brought another person into our family without asking me!” He explodes suddenly.

Okay, it’s not like he’s never considered this possibility before – when he was younger, he used to wish his father would bring another child into their family all the time. He was lonely in the castle because the only other children had been the staff’s and they had been too intimidated to interact with the heir apparent of their country. And of course, he’d never attended a proper school because his father had just hired a bunch of tutors to teach him. So the idea of siblings had greatly appealed to him.

He used to daydream about having a bunch of younger siblings; they would follow him around like ducklings and they’d each wear a different colour (because his father needs to be introduced to colours other than green). They’d all have their own talents like art and music and writing and they’d show their creations to their father and he’d be _proud_.

“Do y’think that father will get married one day?” He’d asked Boris once. He’d been living in the castle for a couple of years by that time and his daydreams about having siblings had expanded to include daydreams about having a mother again. It didn’t have to be a mother, of course – even at that age he had noted his father’s obsession with Reed Richards – just another parent who was much more emotionally available than his father (and one who preferably didn’t wear full body armour and a mask at all times).

Boris had looked surprised by this question – perhaps he had never considered the possibility himself or maybe he had never realised Kristoff’s desire for another parent. “I would like to say yes. I want nothing more than for your father to find someone that truly understands him, someone who he would let see behind all these walls he has built, someone who he would show himself to without the mask.” Boris sighed. “But as the years pass and he only hides himself away from the world more, I fear that it will never happen.” Boris sounded so sad and hopeless when he had said that, that Kristoff had reached out to squeeze his grandfather’s hand.

His grandfather had smiled at him. “Sometimes I think that you are a miracle, _unoko_. Truly you do not understand how you have changed him.”

He had tried to imagine his father before he came into his life – he thinks of Doom alone in the castle; _truly_ alone and it had sent a pain through his chest. It’s not like he really thinks his presence makes that much of a difference, but it must be better, right? He’s not the perfect son – he knows this – but Doom’s not the perfect father either so he thought that they understood those flaws in each other and accepted them because they were family and they loved each other. Except now there’s part of him that’s saying: _what if I’ve just been a placeholder all this time?_ _What if I’ve just been the heir presumptive all this time? Just waiting for my father to bring home a better child than me?_

“I just don’t understand why he didn’t talk to me about her…” He says miserably because now he can’t shake the feeling that he’s been replaced.

“Zora just lives here, Kristoff – there are plenty of people who live in this castle who are not members of our family.”

“No.” He shakes his head. He doesn’t quite know how to explain it to his grandfather without making Doom sound like a child who becomes attached to his pets because he’s named them. “Remember when Valeria was born? None of us could have imagined that she would become a part of our family. Did you know _dad_ isn’t even her godfather? He always calls himself that, but Johnny Storm is actually her godfather… but that didn’t stop _dad_ from doting on her like she was his own.”

“Valeria was always apart of _your_ family,” Boris says, giving him a knowing look. He waits a moment before saying: “Will you reconsider telling your father about your origins?”

“No.” He tells him sternly – they’ve had this argument many times before. “Nathaniel Richards is nothing to me. If I tell _dad_ , it’s like an acknowledgement that it means something to me when it doesn’t. I don’t care about that man. I have a father, and it isn’t him.”

He doesn’t mention his fears of course, though he suspects that Boris knows them anyway. His fears of rejection from his father - who knows how he would react if he knew his son was biologically the half-brother of his nemesis? Who knows how _Reed_ would react?

He sighs. “Why did you ask me to come home, _phuro dad_? I assume it wasn’t to rehash this same argument?”

“We’re not arguing, _unoko_ – I respect your decision not to tell your _dad_ … I just worry he will find out himself one day and be angry we kept it from him.” He shakes his head. “Never mind hypotheticals, though.” He pauses whilst he gathers his thoughts together. “I asked you here because your _dad_ has been working on an… experiment for the last couple of years. When he first started this project, I didn’t discourage it because I knew if I did, he would only pursue it more fervently when before he was only mildly interested in the concept. Truthfully, I had forgotten about it completely until I realised recently that he was still working on it years later – and that it was near completion.”

Kristoff eyes him warily. “Are you going to tell me what this experiment is or are we playing 21 questions?”

“Do not try to be funny with me, _unoko_ ,” Boris tells him shortly. “Frankly I do not know how to explain it to you; I am not a scientist like you and he.”

He considers for a moment all the wild schemes his father has devised in the past; from the original plan to build a machine to contact his mother’s soul to his more recent attempt to play God. Frankly there’s a lot of them to pick from. The thing that has him concerned is that Boris has never expressed explicit _worry_ about any of these plans before. Sure, he’s given Kristoff those looks that say _“Why is my son like this? Where did I go wrong?”_ But never has he really been _worried_ – it’s starting to make _him_ worried.

“So…” he starts. “You want me to talk to him? Talk him out of whatever scheme he’s cooked up this time?”

Boris frowns. “I am not sure if he can be talked out of this plan – it’s nearly complete as far as I can tell; he doesn’t share these things with me, you know. But you and he are one in the same. You understand these science things. I hope that maybe he’ll be more willing to discuss it with you.”

The mention of all this science has Kristoff half-convinced his father is cooking up Frankenstein’s Monster in the basement. In fact, he probably shouldn’t joke about that… just in case.

***

His father’s private laboratory is in the bowels of the castle because Victor Von Doom is a hermit who feels the need to shut himself away in the dark periodically like some sort of vampire – his father truly is a modern-day Dracula.

“Father!” He calls out loudly as he enters the lab. The lights are on which is confirmation that Doctor Doom is about somewhere.

There’s no answer. Kristoff isn’t surprised. His father’s laboratory is a collection of tunnels and rooms and comes across as more of a labyrinth than a scientific workshop – he could be whole rooms away, unable to hear him.

He moves further into the first room. The lights are sterile and slightly blinding because his father cannot quite trust the medieval style lighting that services the rest of the castle.

He calls out for his father again – there’s still no answer.

Kristoff’s starting to worry because his father isn’t prone to ignoring him outright. _Maybe he’s angry I left_.

Before he can fall down that hole of anxiety, however, he hears footsteps. They’re the footsteps of someone who is trying to stay silent but is failing. They’re also much too gentle and small to be his father’s footsteps.

He steps forward cautiously. “Hello? Is someone there?”

The castle is not only Kristoff’s home, but the seat of Latveria’s government. Hundreds of people pass in and out every day; civil servants, civilians, domestic staff and students of the Latverian School of Science which is joined onto the castle. None of the people that frequent the castle could access this lab. Kristoff had to submit to a barrage of security measures just to enter; voice recognition, passwords, retinal scans and fingerprints (his father isn’t paranoid at all – why do you ask?).

The footsteps even out until there is silence. A figure is visible in the unnatural lighting. Whatever scenario he had imagined, the truth is far from it.

It’s a child. A small boy. 

Kristoff stares. The child stares back.

“Hello.” He says; slowly, because he’s very confused. There aren’t many children around the castle (otherwise he wouldn’t have been so lonely as a kid). He’s sure that he would recognise any of the staff’s kids and the only other children who are regular fixtures in the castle are Kristoff’s ‘cousins’ (Boris’ other grandchildren) and this child is not one of them. “Do you need any help? How did you get in here?”

His overtures are met with a blank look and Kristoff realises he had spoken in English. _Ugh, this is what happens when you spend too much time in America_.

He repeats his questions again – this time in Latverian.

The child’s face expresses understanding this time around, but he still doesn’t answer.

Kristoff is unsure of how to proceed which results in a sort of staring contest between himself and the young boy. Finally, he says: “Can you speak?”

The boy shakes his head and gestures uselessly to his throat.

“Right… okay–” a small hand tugs on his wrist, and Kristoff cuts himself off to look down at the child who is trying to pull him forward. “You want me to follow you?”

Nodding, the boy marches forward – his small hand circled around Kristoff’s wrist – and expertly navigates his way through the confusing array of antechambers and tunnels. This is when Kristoff realises that this child cannot possible be some random civilian who inexplicably found his way into his father’s laboratory. Truthfully, he had recognised this before – there is no way that his father’s security protocols would allow such a reckless thing to happen – he just had had no other idea of how this child would have ended up here. Now, though, he’s starting to suspect that his father has been suffering from an extreme case of empty nest syndrome whilst he’s been in America.

The young boy releases his wrist suddenly and Kristoff sees they’ve arrived in the most inner part of his father’s laboratory. This is where his father keeps his more private and personal projects – the Time Platform is tucked away around here somewhere.

His father is sitting at a lab bench, hunched over some papers. “Kristofer?” He calls out, without looking up.

For a moment he thinks his father has had a temporary lapse in sanity and forgotten his name. But then the young boy smiles and moves closer to his father and he realises; _he wasn’t talking to me_.

_Kristofer._ He mouths the name in disbelief. It feels as if his father is playing some sort of sick joke. Every fear he’s ever had about his father replacing him comes crashing back into his mind like a tsunami. There’s a strange sort of tightness in his chest; it’s making it hard to breathe. _Why did I leave? I knew this would happen. I knew he’d find a better heir than me. Why did I leave?_

A noise escapes from his throat. It sounds guttural – almost like he’s choking. _Maybe I am_.

“Kristoff!” his father’s voice is loud and commanding and… concerned? He can’t really tell because the voice sounds distant, like he’s in a bubble separated from everyone else.

“Kristoff!” this time he jolts, because a pair of hands have gripped his shoulders painfully. “ _Č_ _haavo!_ Speak! What is wrong?”

He thinks it’s the Romani that snaps him out of it. His father rarely uses the language with him. Not like Boris who loves to release a tirade of Romani whenever he’s slightly passionate about any subject. Kristoff suspects that his father avoids using the language with him in particular because he wants to repress memories of his own parents.

“ _Dad?_ ” He glances hazily at the hands holding him tightly and thinks to himself: _where’s the armour?_

Then he looks up at his father fully and sees his _face_.

If he thought he was shocked before, it’s nothing now. He’s _never_ seen his father without his mask. He can’t quite explain what it’s like – to grow up around someone you love but who you’ve never even _seen_. And the most frustrating part (bar the fact he has to navigate conversations with someone who’s facial expressions are invisible to him) is that he knows that other people have seen his father’s face! His father’s Doombots have made it impossible to tell if someone is talking to the _real_ Doctor Doom so the method his father employs as proof is to show people his face. That’s his father through and through – able to be vulnerable in order to defeat the enemy but unable to be vulnerable with those who _really_ matter.

Kristoff is silent. He can’t look away. He doesn’t know how to react – he feels like anything he says or does will be taken the wrong way by his father. “ _Does it hurt?”_ He wants to ask. _“Are you in pain?”_

“Boris was right,” he blurts out instead. “We do look alike…”

His father studies his expression as if trying to find some sort of weakness he can exploit so that he can put them on equal footing. Kristoff just smiles nervously at him.

“I find that Boris is right about most things,” his father says finally, pulling his hands away from Kristoff’s shoulders.

“I wish you wouldn’t wear the armour more often.”

His father looks surprised to see him admit as much. “I know.”

“You don’t have to,” he says quietly. “No one would care.”

“ _I_ would care,” is all Victor says before turning away. “I am… I regret that I cannot do that for you.”

“It’s okay.” It’s not, but he understands that whilst he treats this as a somewhat trivial issue it’s actually a trauma for his father. A trauma that he’s probably never going to work through because Victor would rather suffer for the rest of his life than show a perceived weakness.

His father has retreated back to his former seat, although he seems to have abandoned whatever work he was pouring over before in favour of watching the young boy (Kristofer, apparently – no one could criticise his father’s creativity) who has crawled under another lab bench to play with a stuffed toy in the shape of a horse.

“So… uh-" he gestures towards the boy -"You adopted another kid, huh?”

“No.”

“Oh God… you didn’t like… _steal_ him, right?”

“ _Steal him_?” his father sounds amused. “Have I ever given you the impression that I steal children from their parents like some sort of folk devil? Has your time in America truly clouded your perception of me so?”

“Well he didn’t just fall from the sky, father.”

“No, of course not,” Victor agrees. “He’s a reproductive clone of myself.”

This is said calmly – casually – as if the idea of a reproductive clone of a human is a normal scientific idea and not the type outlawed in countries across the globe. “You’re joking, right?” his father doesn’t answer and Kristoff’s starting to get the impression that he won’t make it through this day without a heart attack. “Oh God… you’re being serious!”

His mind is working at double speed trying to process this idea. _No wonder Boris had no idea how to explain this to me,_ he muses. Although he’s sure that his grandfather couldn’t have known the extent of Victor’s experiment – he certainly had no idea that it was _complete_ or that he had another grandchild running around right underneath his feet.

“How… how did you create him?” he asks cautiously. “Was there like… I dunno, a surrogate or something?”

Victor looks slightly horrified at that suggestion. “He was grown in an artificial womb.” He says this in a tone that suggests this should have been obvious. “Do I need to explain to you how unethical any alternative would have been?”

“Frankly I thought I would have to be the one explaining how unethical it would be to you.”

His father allows that. “I was originally considering a twin experiment in which a pair of twins would be raised in two different environments so that I could study how environmental factors affected their dispositions. But I decided against that in the end because it would have required another genetic donor that one of the twins could have been placed to live with, and I did not have any of Reed Richards’ DNA on hand.”

Kristoff nearly chokes. “ _Reed_? Why on Earth would you have needed _his_ DNA?”

Victor looks at him incredulously. “Reed Richards is my only equal – who else would I have combined my DNA with?”

Kristoff sighs. “Of course.” He thinks it’s probably wise of him not to mention to his father that these hypothetical twins would have been his nephews as well as his brothers.

Suddenly, he has a thought that stills him. “Were there others before him? Ones that… failed and… died?” The thought of that has his stomach churning.

“I am Doom, and Doom does not fail,” his father says simply before elaborating, seeing the horrified look on his face. “You seem to forget that I am a sorcerer as well as a scientist.”

He blanches. “ _Magic!_ ” He’s honestly starting to question his father’s mental state (more than usual). “Are you _crazy_? I can’t even _imagine_ the dark price for creating a new life!”

Victor seems unconcerned. “I did not use magic to create a new life, I used science for that. I merely used the mystic arts to ensure nothing would go wrong in the process.”

“Magic _always_ has a price, _dad_ – that’s like the first thing you taught me!”

“And whilst I’m glad you still remember that, you needn’t be so dramatic.”

Right, because of the two of them _Kristoff_ is the dramatic one.

His father glances at Kristofer – still happily playing with his stuffed horse toy, oblivious to their conversation. “Kristofer is mute. His vocal cords are completely fine as are the speech and language areas of his brain; nor is it some form of selective mutism. It is clear to me what price was exacted.”

Mute. Huh. He wonders what Kristofer thinks of this – that the price of his existence was his voice. He’s probably too young to _really_ understand. Will he be angry with Victor in the future, he wonders, because the choice was out of his hands? A tiny part of Kristoff is surprised that his father didn’t see Kristofer’s muteness as a failure on his own behalf, because his father is such a perfectionist – he says as much to him.

“I created a new life, Kristoff. I am not naïve – I knew there would be a price and I was prepared to pay it. The powers of the universe must think that being mute is a steep price to pay – perchance they were relying on my ego to find Kristofer’s disability as some sort of slight upon myself, but more fool them. Perhaps once I would have seen it that way, but I like to think that I am a better man now.” His father’s eyes rest on Kristofer, who has put his toy down to look at them both – clearly he is not too young to miss that what they are discussing is him. Victor addresses the child: “We are both broken things to the rest of the world, hmm? But what do they know?”

Kristofer makes a gesture with his hands. Sign language, he realises. _I don’t know any_ , he thinks guilty.

“Perfect?” his father repeats the same gesture. “You clever boy. Yes. You are perfect.”

Victor looks at Kristoff. “I… I do not want him to be like me – do you understand? I do not wish for him to hide away from the rest of the world. I want him to understand that this is who he is – and that… that is okay.”

_If you can think that about Kristofer, why can’t you think it about yourself_?

His father… _their_ father waves Kristofer over. “Come here, child.” Kristofer crawls out from under the bench eagerly to stand between the two of them. Kristoff isn’t sure how old the child is supposed to be so it’s hard to tell if he’s too small for his age but he is quite slight. It occurs to him suddenly that this is what Victor must have looked like as a child – he has the abrupt image of this small boy wrapped up in a man’s frozen arms in the Latverian mountains and shivers.

“This is Kristoff – my eldest son.” Victor gestures at him. “He is your namesake; do you understand what that means?”

Kristofer shakes his head, his dark eyes bright and curious.

“It means you were named after him.” Oh. _Oh_. Kristoff nearly cries, honestly. He thinks about how his father told him to call Boris ‘grandfather’ because Victor is incapable of expressing his paternal love towards the older man; how he’d known that Boris would understand what Victor was trying to say by doing that. And he thinks about the child that his father delivered for Reed and Sue – Valeria – named after someone he loved a very long time ago. He thinks about how Victor has corrected others who’ve used his original surname – interjecting to tell them that it’s ‘Von Doom’ because their lack of shared blood truly means nothing to him. And now this new son whom he has named after Kristoff. _This is how he expresses his love_ , he thinks, _because he’s so emotionally repressed, he can’t say the actual words_.

Kristofer makes another sign with his hands that he doesn’t recognise.

“ _Brother_.” Victor translates for him.

“Oh…” Kristoff fumbles with his hands, stumbling through the sign Kristofer had made. He knows it’s pretty messy, but he hopes it’s understandable. “Yes. I’m your brother.”

“We will have to create a name sign for Kristoff, hmm?” muses his father to his younger son. “And teach him our new language.”

Victor turns to him. “I need to… to put my armour back on.” _You don’t have to_ , he wants to say, but he knows that nothing will change his father’s mind. “Kristoff, take your brother upstairs and introduce him to the rest of the castle’s inhabitants.”

He rolls his eyes. “You can just say _family_ , y’know.” Then he remembers something. “Hey, Boris told me about some girl who’s living here too now? Zora? Is she like my sister or…?”

“Sister? Hmm… perhaps. We will see.”

“Yeah, yeah. I know what _that_ means.” he turns to his new brother and smiles. _I have a brother now… maybe even a sister._ “Come on, _pral_ – that means brother in our language… do you know Romani? Probably not. That’s okay, I’ll teach you. Oh! We can share languages – you can teach me your signs and I’ll teach you our people’s language!”

He’s probably getting ahead of himself, but there’s an excitement building up in him he can’t stifle. This is like all of his childhood dreams come true.

Kristofer holds out his small hand and he takes it, leading them both back out of his father’s winding laboratory. _Hmm,_ he thinks, _now all I need to do is find someone for father to marry and we’ll be the perfect family..._

**Author's Note:**

> Translations:  
> čhaavo - son, boy  
> unoko - grandson  
> dad - father  
> phuro dad - grandfather 
> 
> I might make this a series?? I dunno we'll see


End file.
